Disarm
by lostinthemusic6
Summary: He's been catching glimpses of her since he first came to town, talks himself out of going over to her building whenever he sees that light on through the window but there's something about her, something he can't shake, girl's like a damn ghost the way she's always appearing and disappearing. Doesn't help none when he finds out she was supposedly killed five years ago neither [AU]


**I don't know what this is or where this came from ...It was just something that started out as a drabble that obviously took a life of its own. Also, this first chapter might be confusing, it's supposed to be.**

 ****Also, this is something I would call a "1920's AU of a 1920's AU" now, before you get confused all I mean by that is that it is set in the Prohibition Period but in which computers/criminal databases/ _electronics_ /etc. have already been invented and are widely used. It wasn't planned that way, just happened to come out like that and is it weird, of course. Have I seen weirder, _definitely_. So sue me if you want, I have a box of cookies but that's really all you will be able to get out of me.****

* * *

 _Disarm you with a smile_  
 _And leave you like they left me here_  
 _To wither in denial_  
 _The bitterness of one who's left alone_  
 _Ooh, the years burn_  
 _Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn_

 _I used to be a little boy_  
 _So old in my shoes_  
 _And what I choose is my voice_  
 _What's a boy supposed to do?_  
 _The killer in me is the killer in you_  
 _My love_  
 _I send this smile over to you_

 ** _\- Smashing Pumpkins: "Disarm"_**

...

* * *

A shot rings out and he waits for the pain, a pain greater than the one currently throbbing in his arm where Gorman's first bullet had hit him - he always knew that bastard was dirty - but when no pain comes, he quickly turns and he is surprised to see the cop in question now lying motionless on the asphalt, the color red beginning to pool on his white dress shirt.

Daryl catches movement beside him and he quickly draws up his weapon again, though he falters as he realizes that it is _her_ standing there, a gun of her own pointed at the man now lying dead in front of them.

This isn't the first time he's seen her, though, this is the first time he's seen her this close. He's really only seen her from a distance before, catching glimpses of her through his window back home. He saw her walking out the back door of Eddie's Bar a few nights ago and he had tried to follow her but even though he was only a few seconds behind her, when he stepped out into the back parking lot, she was gone.

The woman had that habit. In the few weeks he had been stationed in this quiet town, he must have seen the woman around a dozen or so times but he was never quick enough to actually catch up to her, not that he even knew what he would have said to her had he actually managed to. She was there one minute, then gone the next. He couldn't explain it but if he didn't know any better, he would say this damn woman was haunting him or something - like she was a ghost; half the time, Daryl was never quite sure if he ever saw her there to begin with.

But every night he caught sight of the window across from him, how the light from within shone over the alley and peeked it's way into his apartment and he knew he should have done something by now, knew that what she was doing was illegal but at the same time, he couldn't find it in himself to head across the alley and knock on her door, ask her just what she was doing there in that building.

He looks at her now, nearly glowing in the light coming from the streetlight and the words are out of his mouth before he realizes it.

"What's your name?"

She turns and he blinks in surprise when he catches sight of her eyes, big and blue and _calculating_. She seems to look him over, her eyes briefly settling on his bleeding arm but she doesn't say anything as her eyes once again land on his and he can't help but notice how they almost appear _haunted_ in their own way, those blue eyes, like they've appeared to have seen too much.

She turns away without a word, tucking her gun away and it takes him a moment, his senses a little dulled after the confrontation with Gorman before he realizes she is walking away and he hisses and groans as he pulls himself to his feet.

"Hey, wait!" he calls, his voice rough and laced with both annoyance and pain.

He thinks he sees her hesitate, for just a moment, but then she is walking again, turning down an alley and by the time he catches up to her, though it is impossible - the alley too long and open - she is gone, _vanished_.

He continues to stare though, even as he pulls out his phone and begins to call Grimes, just hoping that maybe he will catch another glimpse of blonde hair but of course, he doesn't. He turns and heads back to Gorman, a cover story already brewing in his head.

...

He's just finished tying off the stitch in his arm when he sees the light flick on across the street. He takes another swig of whiskey - to help with the pain of course - and then heads over to his window. It takes a moment but he does finally see the silhouette of her walking past her own open window. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, that maybe something would have changed - she did save his life tonight, after all. But the woman has decided to remain as mysterious as ever, not even pausing to allow him a better glimpse of her.

The light flickers off just as quick as it turned on and he decides to let it be for tonight - his arm throbbing and the alcohol already coursing through his system not having him in the shape he wants to be in when he finally talks to her, when he finally figures out why it was that this mysterious woman was staying in an abandoned building, a building that had yellow police tape draped along the front entrance.

He glances down, checking to make sure the alley below was clear and when he looks back up, he suddenly sees her staring at him, her blonde hair nearly illuminated in the darkness and even though it's not possible, the distance too great, he swears he can see the blue of her eyes from here.

He blinks and suddenly, she is gone and once again he finds himself wondering if maybe he has imagined the whole thing.

...

He dreams of her that night, sees her running up from behind him, gun in her hand and aimed to kill. He hears the shot, somewhere out of his peripheral vision he sees Gorman go down but his eyes are only on her. Her long blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes. She's wearing all black, black jeans and a black shirt, somehow it seems wrong though. A girl like her, she should be wearing sundresses and cowboys boots, smiling, laughing and singing. He doesn't know her; doesn't know her name but somehow, it just makes sense. Girls like her shouldn't be wearing outfits fit for robbing banks.

He sees a gleam in the glow of the streetlight, sees something shuffle against her movements and his eyes catch sight of a silver necklace dangling from her neck. It seems familiar to him and he can't help but feel like he's missing something, something important.

He wakes with a gasp and his gaze immediately goes to the window but it's dark, dark and quiet, and there is no sign that she is even in the apartment at all. He rises from the couch, heads for his bed over in the corner and as he lays down, he makes a decision then and there.

It was time to figure out who the hell this mysterious woman is.

...

The first thing he does when he gets to work the next morning is go see Tara. She narrows her eyes at him as he sets a coffee down next to her, her brow raising.

"Thought Grimes told you to take the day off and heal?." she questions, bringing the Styrofoam cup to her lips.

"Pfft. Just a graze." he mutters.

" _Men_." she scoffs in response, shaking her head and he smirks. "So what entitles me the pleasure to see your charming face this morning?" she says then, her sarcasm thick and her own lips lifting in a smirk.

He looks at the computer in front of her - he didn't know much about them, didn't really need to where he was concerned. His job involved going out into the field, but he had respect for Tara and all the shit he knew she could do with this contraption in front of her, knows that without her or this machine that many suspects would have slipped away, would not have been held accountable for their crimes.

"So this thing can help figure out who people are, yeah?" He asks, nearly scowling at the screen in front of him, deciding to get right to the point.

She snorts. "Well, yeah."

"Nah but I mean, like if I gave ya a description of someone, without no scientific shit or nothin', it could work?"

"What are you gettin' at, Dixon? What, like, describing a criminal for a sketch or somethin'?" she asks, her confusion nearly hidden with her amusement.

He sighs. "Yeah, I guess, I mean, say I was lookin' for someone, didn't know their name or nothin' but I know what they look like, it could tell me who they are?"

"Well, I can't guarantee it or anythin', but sure, wanna give it a shot?" she says, cracking her knuckles and then looks up at him and he just gives a small nod. "Hit me."

He narrows his eyes, trying to picture her from his memory. "Blonde girl, early twenties _maybe_. Around five-one, maybe two..." he looks down at her when he doesn't hear her typing anything and he sees her lookin' at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

She smirks. "Nothin', well I mean, I don't got a problem with being your wing man, Dixon, but, I'm pretty sure we can find you a girlfriend at a bar or somethin', don't need to do all this."

He gives her a glare, even though he can feel the tips of his ears burning. "Ain't like that," he mumbles and when she just crosses her arms at him he lets out an annoyed sigh. "There's this girl, _woman_ , I've been seein' her around and I don't know, I just get a weird feelin' about her."

" _Really?_ " Tara says, giving him another smirk and he glares again.

"Stop." he nearly growls. "Look, I just...there is just somethin' about her. I wanna know who she is, a'right?"

"And ya can't just ask her _because_...?" she says, trailing off and raising her eyebrows in question.

He sighs again. "'Cause she always disappears 'fore I get a chance. Girl's like a damn ghost or somethin'. There one minute and gone the next." He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Look, just, can ya help me or not?" he asks then, his frustration reaching it's peak.

"Okay, okay, yeah," Tara says after a moment, nodding and taking a deep breath. "Alright, what else ya got 'sides she's on the short side, young and has blonde hair?"

"Long."

"Huh?"

"Hair's long. Long and wavy and blonde. She's kinda tiny, _petite_ or whatever. Can't weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. She's pale too."

"Well I would assume so, with her being a _ghost_ an' all." she grins as he rolls his eyes. ""kay, gimme more."

He sighs, once again trying to picture her again, wishing he had actually paid more attention to her, though, he guesses it makes sense since the night he finally got a real close look at her he was being shot at and all.

"Her eyes." he suddenly blurts out, seeing them from the glow of the streetlamp again, wondering how he hadn't mentioned them already. "She's got these big, blue eyes. Bluest eyes I think I've ever seen."

Tara chuckles. "Easy there, Romeo," she teases and before he can say anything she is speaking again. "So...early twenties, short, petite, white, _long_ blonde hair, _big_ blue eyes..."

He's so caught up in listening to her description, nodding along - and ignoring her teasing tone - with everything, confirming it, that he doesn't realize Tara has started to slow, her brow beginning to furrow in confusion as she tries to picture the woman he is describing herself, like suddenly a thought has occurred to her.

"Oh, she's got this necklace too, somethin' about it, seemed too familiar, swear I've seen it before. Silver, with two hearts, smaller one hanging in a bigger one, ya know?"

This time he does notice her pause, how her fingers stop moving completely, how she takes a short intake of breath, almost like she's just been punched. He quickly looks down at her, sees her staring at the screen, her eyes wide and her skin taking on a paler color.

"Wha'?" he asks, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prick up.

"I, I just..." Tara shakes her head, blinking rapidly and she looks up at him and he's shocked when he sees a look of disbelief on her face. "Where have you seen this girl?"

He stares at her blankly, wondering why she is acting so strange and wondering why he suddenly has a twisted feeling in his gut.

He shrugs finally. "Around. Saw her sneakin' out the back of a bar once, walkin' down the alley a few times. She's been stayin' in the apartment across mine, pretty sure squattin' though, the building's supposed to be abandoned. An' last night, she's the one who shot Gorman, not me."

Tara is quiet for a moment, her brows still furrowed in confusion and she mumbles something under her breath, something Daryl is pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear but he does anyway.

 _"Didn't know ghosts can shoot guns."_

"The hell you talkin' 'bout, girl?" he growls, his confusion bringing his frustration back in full.

Tara sighs and shakes her head again. "Sorry, I...Daryl. It just, it sounds an awful lot like you're describing Beth Greene." the name is familiar but at the same time it isn't and he just gives Tara a face, encouraging her to elaborate. "Hershel Greene's daughter."

Now _that_ name he recognizes. He had read a lot on the history of the town when he first came here, tried to learn the ins and outs of who was who in this place. And suddenly the pieces begin to fall together. Hershel Greene, a well known moonshiner. (His son, Shawn, was a known runner, also known among the town as being one of the best 'Shine Runners around, having never been caught to this day.) There was talks too, about Hershel's wife, how she was a lot more involved in the Shine process than most people thought, many people thought it was her who encouraged the Greene signature on all the lids of their stock - two silver hearts, a small one inside a larger one - and he sees that necklace dangling from the woman's neck again and his takes in a deep breath.

Hershel, along with the whole Greene family seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth a few years back though, but he can't remember ever reading why.

"So, what? Ya got a picture or somethin'?" Daryl asks Tara then, still not understanding why the young woman seems almost spooked at the mention of the Greene girl.

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Tara nearly stutters, the words coming from her mouth like molasses. "Hold on."

He watches impatiently as she starts tapping away again and he looks over her shoulder as she starts going through files and finally, there is a picture on the screen. He almost wants to gasp as he sees the girl looking back at him.

"That's her," Daryl says lowly, nodding his head slowly. "But, she's younger lookin' here, ya ain't got a more recent picture?"

"No."

Daryl once again looks down at Tara, surprised at the bluntness of her tone, and she turns so that she is looking up at him and he gets even more confused when he notices that she actually looks _sad_.

"Wha'-" he starts to say but at the same moment, she speaks his name.

"Daryl," she says and he blinks in surprise when he realizes she is speaking to him almost like a mother would speak to a child.

"Beth Greene has been dead for five years."

He hears a roaring in his ears and without realizing it, he takes a step back from Tara, who is now looking at him like he might collapse or something. He won't of course, but he will admit, he is a little unsure of what to do at the moment. He knows, _knows_ , without a doubt that even though this picture on the screen shows a much younger girl, a _brighter_ girl - one who is smiling, maybe even laughing at whoever must have taken the photo, it was indeed the same girl - now woman - he had been seeing all around, even if that woman was colder, darker almost.

He compared it to being haunted.

Now he almost wonders if it wasn't a comparison at all.

"She got a sister or somethin'? Looks like 'er?" Daryl mumbles, bringing his thumb up to gnaw on his nail.

Tara makes a noise, like she wants to speak but it's gotten caught in her throat but within another moment she does manage to clear her throat, glances back at the photo on the screen.

"She does - have a sister I mean. Maggie. But, her and Beth, they looked nothin' a like. Polar opposites in almost every way. The girl you're describing, there's no doubt it would be Beth but, Daryl, that's _impossible_."

He hears the emotion in Tara's voice, sees the sadness on her face and he quickly realizes something.

"You knew 'er." he states and she gives him a sad smile.

"Yeah, she was the sweetest little thing. Like this little ball of sunshine," she laughs, though it is just as sad as her smile. "I knew her sister's husband, Glenn. I, we, don't really talk to much anymore though. After Beth was killed, the Greene's just kind of pulled back, left town, no one really knew what to do with themselves, how to cope."

"What happened?" he hears himself asking, wishing he had a file to read of something, something that had more details, something that didn't make the one coworker he actually maybe liked, so sad.

"Moonshine." she says simply, shaking her head in almost annoyed frustration. "I don't know the whole story a'course, don't think anyone really does, ya know? But basically, I guess Hershel, her daddy, was trying to expand his business, started tradin' out of his territory, and well, his competitor, Philip Blake didn't take that all too kindly. Word is he kidnapped Beth, used her to threaten Hershel and I guess Hershel agreed to whatever the man demanded but somethin' went wrong during the exchange. Beth was shot, never even got to see her family again."

"Any chance she coulda survived?"

Tara shakes her head. "I've read the report; she was shot in the head."

Daryl gives her a nod and he once again turns his gaze to the picture on the screen. The woman he's being seeing around town, who lives in the apartment next to him, who saved his life last night, there was no doubt in his mind that she was in fact, Beth Greene. She was different of course, the years had aged her - though not by much - but somehow, the quiet, distance woman who knew how to handle a gun and saved his life was the same girl who was smiling at him in this photo.

The only question he needed answered now, was, _how?_

...

He waits, waits almost two hours, sitting there on his beat up little couch, smoking cigarette after cigarette and fogging up his room. His window is open though, and his eyes have barely moved from the white curtain across from him, only an alley below separating the two. He came home and was surprised to see the curtain now covered the window, something it had not been doing since the day Dale first showed him this place and he had glanced outside, snorting at the view the window offered of the building across from him, the only thing he saw was a white curtain billowing in a small breeze.

He had asked Dale if he knew anyone that lived in that other building. Dale had given him a look, a sad shadow fallen over his features - that Daryl had chosen to ignore - and had just shook his head, saying that no one has lived there for years. Daryl had held his tongue then, wondering why the window would be open then if no one lived there.

He sits up straighter when the curtain is pushed aside, exposing the dark room to his questioning eyes, but he relaxes once again when the answering breeze suddenly does the same to his own curtain and he sits back with a sigh. Suddenly though, he gets up, smashes his cigarette down into the ashtray on the coffee table and he heads for the door, his hand automatically going toward his waistband to assure himself that his gun was still safely tucked away.

There's a storm coming, a bad one he assumes - with the way he had felt the wind swirling around in his wait - and when he steps outside, he immediately turns to shy away from the strong gust that blows down the alley, ruffling his coat and he hears a metal can rolling somewhere in the distance. He quickly makes his way over to the other building, the howl of the wind and the scent of rain the only thing he picks up on as he steps under the yellow tape. The front door is locked, like he assumed it to be, and with one final glance around to make sure he was alone, he ducks down and goes to work on picking the lock.

The door opens with a squeal and Daryl nearly cringes at the noise. He closes the door behind him and automatically pulls his gun, securing it in his hands before he starts to make his way down the dark hallways and corridors. The place is quiet and Daryl isn't ashamed to admit, down right _spooky_ and he feels goosebumps rise on his skin, his hair pricking on the back of his neck. He cautiously goes up the stairs, treating this like he were sneaking up on a suspect in a case, his guard up, his senses on high alert.

Just out of curiosity, he tries all the other rooms along the floor but doesn't question it when he finds all of them locked. He pauses when he comes to the last door - 2b - the one he knows _has_ to be her room and he inhales deeply, bracing himself as he reaches for the handle, turning it slowly. He nearly jumps when the door opens immediately, his hand going back to join his own as he pushes the door open further. He turns quickly, his gun raised as he steps inside the room. His heart drops, his stomach clenching at what he sees.

The room is empty, bare of everything beside a couch and small coffee table off to the right. It wasn't just that though, the room, it was _covered_ in dust, nothing out of place, nothing suspicious.

 _No one had been here in years._

His heart picks up in his chest, his mind whirling and he hears that roaring in his ears again, much like he did back when Tara had told him what he has assumed to be impossible. He knew it was impossible. There was no way, he knew what he saw, knew that Beth Greene, or at least someone who looked a hell of a lot like her, had been showing up, had been catching his eye, almost like they _wanted_ him to notice. It didn't make sense, it couldn't.

He lowers his gun and heads for the window and he looks out, sees his own apartment directly across, his living room illuminated in the light he had forgotten to turn off. He stands up suddenly, looking around quickly and once he catches sight of the light switch on the wall he heads toward it, his gun hanging loosely in his right hand. He finds himself stupidly bracing himself, taking a deep breath before he flicks the switch upwards.

Nothing happens.

No light turns on, no noise to indicate that the wiring was hooked up at all and he flicks the switch a few more times, rapidly pushing it up and down but still, nothing happens, no light turns on, no light that he knows he has seen a dozen times shining through his window, just darkness.

 _It's not fucking possible._

He slumps against the wall, brushing his hand across his face as he lets out a long sigh. Maybe this job was finally getting to him, maybe he had finally lost his mind.

It starts raining, he can hear it through the open window and he stands up, tucks his gun back into his waistband - he clearly doesn't need it - and he once again looks out, sees the rain pouring down, and he closes the window. It slides down without a problem, Daryl ignores the suspicious when he notes how he should have met some resistance, if that window had been open for _years_ , even the state of this building should be worse than it is. Nothing makes sense. He flips over the lock and pulls the curtains over the window and just as he turns, there is a flash of lightning and he freezes as his eyes lock onto the object on the counter, something he had missed in his first scan of the room.

He glances around the room, like he half expects someone to jump out and yell ' _got cha!_ ', but he is alone in this empty room, in this abandoned building, and he slowly makes his way closer to the counter, his eyes narrowing. It's out of place in this dusty room, this lone mason jar that doesn't have a speck of dust on it. He picks it up and the clear liquid inside sloshes around, just as thunder rumbles outside. His finger traces the signature etched onto the lid, one small heart inside a larger heart. He twists the lid, the metal popping against the pressure, and as he brings the jar closer to him and he inhales deeply, he feels the tiniest hint of a smirk begin to form on his lips.

 _Moonshine._

...

* * *

 **If this story continues how I picture it to, it will be a short one, maybe only five chapters at most and to be honest, it will probably leave you with more questions than answers so I don't know, prepare yourselves maybe? ;)**

 **Thank you for reading and please review!**


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